Jobberman

[WP] A corporate interviewer, under investigation by HR for biased hiring, MUST hire the next person to avoid suspicion. But that person just so happens to be a person FORCED to apply who is trying to bomb their interview on purpose.

*****

All throughout history, great battles were determined not by the will of the armies, but by the determination of the men commanding them. Today, two modern gladiators stepped into the coliseum that was the corporate world, each eager to fight for the honor of their beliefs.

Hank nervously looked through the application of his opponent. He was lucky; he had the benefit of prep time in this encounter. His opponent was young, but fierce. Boasting an incredible rate of being unemployable for the last four years. A record that even the work hungry Hank had to admire. There was a dedication to his art of flunking every interview. Even places that would usually accept anyone tossed this centurion out of their offices. Hank wiped the sweat from his brow. Could he still compete in his old age?

Hank, while dedicated, was lacking confidence. His employers were ready to have his contract executed, claiming the man had been biased in his last set of interviews, a claim Hank denied. How could he be biased? Hank had no idea the people that he didn’t hire all enjoyed country music. Why would he have a bias towards country music, of all things? The fair and just Hank gripped the edge of his wooden desk, pulling himself up for what could be his last battle.

“Mr. Jonathan, please, come in. I’m ready to see you.” His once booming voice lacked its flare. He was nervous. The prying camera in the room’s corner throwing off his once proud vigor. He adjusted the tie on his suit, making sure his armor had that respectable look to it.

“Sup.” The young Jonathan didn’t lack that confidence when he wandered into the room. The pair paused when they locked eyes. Jonathan thrusting his hips forward, striking a territorial pose while Hank leaned over the table, ready to pounce.

Jonathan hadn’t bothered with the heavy armor that Hank wore. Instead, he elected to wear a light armor that consisted of blue shorts and a light grey penguin shirt. The penguin comically giving a thumbs down, almost foretelling the fate of Hank if he were to misstep.

“Thank you for coming today. I have heard great things about you.” An obvious lie, but one, he said with a faux confidence. Hank knew the handshake was the make or break in this situation. Whoever won the handshake would get a leg up in this battle. He offered his hand, hoping his experience in the art of a firm handshake would pay off. The mighty gladiators clashed, each striking their first blow as their hands collided. The echo from the clap disturbing the glass of water on Hank’s desk. While both came in strong, Jonathan showed his inexperience, flinching only for a moment, allowing Hank a chance to lock his hand into place. With his grip locked, Hank threw his hand up and down before releasing it.

“Great things?” Jonathan would often follow that comment with something that disproved it. Often mentioning a work-related incident or how he challenged one of his interviewers to a trial by combat. The words wanted to come out but couldn’t. The stinging of his hand far too great.

“Yes, please. Take a seat.” That booming voice returned, giving an order to Jonathan. Hank had regained his footing after a slippery start. When Jonathan took a seat, Hank followed. “Now, can you explain the gap in your resume? Did you have a hobby or perhaps something that caught your eye during that time?”

Jonathan felt small under the weight of Hank’s gaze. The interviewer, having over one hundred, confirmed hirings in his lifetime, a record that he planned to extend today. The reason was simple, Jonathan didn’t want a job. He liked to sponge off the government and had really gotten into watching tv infomercials. Did he enjoy watching infomercials? Of course not, but he thought it was his duty to watch them. Someone had to.

His next response would be a big step on this battlefield. It could be the difference between a maiming blow and drop of his shield. “Nah, I have gotten really into conspiracy theories. Did you know microchips are being placed inside ice-cream cones? Big companies don’t want you to know about it, but how else do you think they come up with all those flavors? They are stealing the ice-cream flavors from your brain. Wake up sheeple.” Jonathan threw up his hands for dramatic effect, even pausing after flicking his head to the left, making sure a loose drop of spit landed on Hank’s desk. Perfect, the old conspiracy trick always worked. He gave Hank a sly grin. How would the old man recover from this blow?

Hank felt his spine tingle, the force of that performance enough to rock him in his seat. Stunning, this Jonathan possessed a skill that may rival his own. Unfortunately, Hank had the power of years on his side. His experience able to deflect this mighty swing.

“Ah, so someone that spends a lot of time studying. That’s wonderful to hear. Our job requires large amounts of reading and study, which will be a perfect fit for you.” That sly grin of Jonathan’s had faded into a look of confusion.

“Tsk.” Jonathan bit his finger; he knew when he had been beat. Any good warrior knew when they had lost a battle. Thankfully, a battle doesn’t determine the outcome of the war. He needed to push this further and unleash one hundred percent of his power. That’s when he spotted it, the photo of an older woman sitting behind Hank on the wall. This was his chance to strike a personal blow.

“Oof, who’s the old woman in that picture behind you? Talk about having an ugly mole. She’s got a whole labour. A labour is a group of moles, in case you didn’t know.” Jonathan said, committing the horrid sin of explaining a joke. Not only that, but he also took a personal attack on the man’s mother.

Hank’s face went red, a seething rage building in the pit of his stomach. Had this warrior no honor? An attack on a person not involved in the conflict was against the code of workplace combat. “How dare you?” Hank watched as Jonathan got up from his seat, ready to accept his victory. The young man confident that he had won the battle.

“Oh, is she someone important? Sorry, I just love trying out my workplace comedy on the interviewer. You should see my morning standup routines. Every morning I do what I call a roasting hour. Everybody loves it.” He had run the mental victory lap around his opponent, turning to head to the door, only to feel that iron grip on his hand.

“A morning routine? Heh, an early bird. That shows dedication.” The bloodied veteran held onto the young gladiator, not ready to accept his death just yet. The fire still lit in his eyes, ready to hire this man or make it his swan song, trying.

“Impossible. No one would still hire me after that.” Jonathan struggled in the man’s grip, losing his cool. That victory lap exhausting him as Hank forced him back into the interviewing chair. Hank could feel the heat in his body. Whether it was from rising blood pressure or rage, he couldn’t tell.

“I would. We hire everyone because we are an accepting business.” He let out a heavy breath, hoping the camera picked up his words. “Last question. What annoying habits do you have?” Hank held his gaze, putting his body on the line. Would Jonathan deal the killing blow, or would he falter?

Jonathan needed to think of the most annoying thing he could. His back pushed against the spine of the chair, squirming in place, trying to get as far away from the man’s gaze as he could. Then it hit him. “I listen to music really loud. Like insane levels of loud. I carry my speaker everywhere and force everyone to listen to my playlist. Not only that, I also throw some of my own covers of the songs onto the playlists. I’m random like that.” Jonathan panted, throwing out an impressive blow, one that was ready to pierce the body of Hank.

“What kind of music?” Hank knew this answer would determine the outcome of the battle, waiting for Jonathan to answer. Jonathan sat, pondering the question, before finding his last bit of confidence as he leaned forward in his chair.

“Country.”

Silence fell over the room as the pair exchanged their last clash. Both warriors having fought valiantly, but in the end only one could win. Hank stood up from his desk, offering his hand. “Congratulations, you got the job. I love country music.” He had to force those words through gritted teeth, watching as Jonathan stared up in absolute horror at the man.

“No, this can’t be. I did everything right. Noooo.” Jonathan dramatically fell back into his chair, arms hanging over the sides as though Hank had shot him. This pose lingered for a moment before he stood up, accepting the handshake.

“This isn’t over. You don’t know what hell you bought upon this company. I’ll get fired.” Jonathan hissed, turning to leave the room. Hank only grinned, dropping back into his chair. Taking a victorious sip of his water.

“Doesn’t matter. I won the war. That battle belongs to someone else. I survived.” He had done it. Like the proud gladiators of old, he had defeated his opponent in a gruesome affair. He just had to hope that bloodshed would appease his brutal higher ups.

*****

THE END